


In the Line of Fire

by AmberBrown



Series: Reading between the Lines [9]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Pre-Series, Savoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22113091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberBrown/pseuds/AmberBrown
Summary: Treville takes Porthos and Athos to Savoy when the Musketeers are late returning from their exercise.
Relationships: Aramis/Porthos
Series: Reading between the Lines [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542634
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	In the Line of Fire

As the ornate Palace door closed behind them Porthos clapped his hand on Athos back, slapping the pauldron. Anyone else would have received one of his withering looks, but not Porthos. Porthos received one of his rare smiles.

'Treville won't expect us back at the garrison straight away,' said Porthos. 

Athos nodded, 'I will pay… I think I owe you.'

Athos knew he did. He owed both Porthos and Aramis. His new friends had been there. They may not have realised how much they had kept him on the straight and narrow. He wished Aramis was there to celebrate his commission. But his friend was away on a training mission with several of the other Musketeers and cadets.

They had been gone for four weeks and it was obvious Porthos was missing his friend. Athos had seen a change in the pair just before the news of the deployment was broken. He guessed something had happened to move their blossoming relationship on a bit. He was pleased for them. 

After his own marriage had ended horrifically, despite not admitting it to anyone else, he liked to see others happy. He knew he was difficult to get on with and had few friends, so it was an added bonus that the two Musketeers were friendly towards him. Porthos had refused to accept an apology after Aramis left on the training mission. Athos had known Aramis had insisted that Porthos stay to keep an eye on him and he hated to be the one that had caused them to be separated for six weeks. Porthos had reminded him that they were soldiers and had to accept that they could not be together constantly and there was always the very real chance of one of them getting killed in the line of duty. 

Although that was highly unlikely to happen on a training mission. The deployed men were probably already on their way back. The long journey to and from Savoy would leave the group exhausted on their return. 

Athos knew that he and Porthos were not the only ones missing the men that had gone. As with any garrison, groups of friends formed. He had spoken to a few of the other Musketeers who were looking forward to getting their friends back. There had been talk of taking over one of the taverns on their return. 

The only person who seemed on edge was the Captain. Athos had not known the man long, but he could tell Treville was worried about something. He was a little short with his men and seemed quick to lose his temper. The irritated mood of the Captain only seemed to get worse each day. Porthos had dismissed Athos’ concerns. The Captain was having to juggle the same amount of work when he was nearly two dozen men short. All the cadets were being pressed into patrol duty and guard duty to cover the shortfall. When the deployed men returned the cadets that had remained would have training to catch up on. Athos supposed Porthos was correct, the Captain did have a lot on his mind. 

They wandered into the city. Athos noticed the difference immediately. The Musketeer uniform was spotted by the people they passed. He had always wondered why people moved out of the way for Porthos and Aramis but not for him. Now he understood. It was the uniform. The respect the Musketeers had from the people of Paris meant they moved aside for the soldiers as they passed. 

As Porthos pushed the door to the tavern, which was still relatively quiet, open the landlord looked up. An old soldier he always welcomed them into his establishment. With a smile he busied himself collecting wine and cups. He nodded to their usual table, which had just been wiped down by the serving girl. 

‘Thank you, Marie,’ said Porthos with a wink.

Marie, her dark brown hair loose around her shoulders slapped him playfully on the arm.

‘My man’s over there by the fire, you be careful,’ she said.

Marie’s husband was leaning over a table talking to one of the regulars, he glanced up and chuckled. 

‘You can try your luck, monsieur, but she’s got a finer punch than I can muster. You should have seen the bruise she left on one of the tradesmen last night. He’s not going to grab her again.’

Porthos laughed as he settled himself at the table opposite Athos. Marie wandered off as the landlord brought their wine across.

‘I see you have your commission young man,’ he said with an appreciative nod towards Athos’ pauldron. 

Athos nodded.

‘And well deserved as well,’ said Porthos, ‘there ain’t a swordsman in the garrison, probably Paris, to match his skills.’

Athos rolled his eyes and shook his head.

‘This is on me,’ said the landlord, ‘you lads are always well behaved, unlike some of them Red Guardsman…’

Porthos poured the wine and toasted Athos. The conversation inevitably turned to what life would be like for Athos now that he had his commission. Athos wondered what his first mission would be. He knew he was likely to be stuck with patrols and guard duty, to begin with, but it was possible, given that there were several commissioned men away that he might be given something else to do fairly soon. He hoped he would be able to complete his first mission without mishap; he knew he already had the Captain's trust but he still wanted to earn his place amongst the other men. He had not met any animosity from the other men, but he knew that most of them had previous military backgrounds before joining the regiment. He had come from nothing, a noble with no ambition. Although nobody in the garrison knew that. He had not talked about his past with anyone. He had indicated that there had been an incident to Porthos and Aramis but had not elaborated. His friends had not asked any further questions. They both had things in their past that they hid, so obviously knew what it was like to keep something secret. 

The amiable company and relatively drinkable wine were interrupted by the arrival of the Captain. He waved them back into their seats as both Musketeers went to stand. Treville took the seat next to Athos, he was agitated, he leaned forward, Athos got the impression that the Captain did not want anyone to overhear.

‘I need men I can trust,’ he started. ‘I know I can trust all the men, but…’ he paused for a few seconds, ‘you two are the best men I have.’

Athos noticed Porthos looked confused.

Treville shook his head, ‘you are the best I have here. If Aramis was here, I would count him as one of my best as well...but…’

He sighed. After glancing around he leaned further forward. Both Athos and Porthos copied him, drawn into the secretive actions of their Captain.

‘There’s something wrong with that training mission they were sent on-’

‘Wrong?’ asked Porthos.

‘It was suggested by the Cardinal. He and I coordinate the larger exercises so that both of our garrisons are not depleted of men at the same time. He suggested the training mission to Savoy. I don’t know,’ he paused again. ‘There’s just something wrong, I know it…’

‘What do you propose, Captain,’ asked Athos.

‘I want to go down there. I want you two to come with me. We won’t be missed; the Red Guard are filling in for us during the exercise.’

‘They should be on their way back by now,’ pointed out Porthos, whose expression was one of concern. 

‘Then we’ll meet them on the road,’ said Treville. ‘Be ready to leave in an hour.’

Without another word he rose from the table and walked from the tavern turning in the direction of the garrison as he stepped out onto the street. 

‘What was that about?’ asked Porthos.

‘You have known him longer than I,’ said Athos. ‘Has he seemed a bit odd lately? I thought he looked troubled when he sent the men off four weeks ago.’

He watched as Porthos leaned back in his chair thinking about the last few weeks. His friend nodded after a few seconds.

‘You are right. He is intuitive. Perhaps he’s picked up on something and just wants to be certain?’

Porthos drained his cup, before grabbing his hat from the bench beside him and rose from the table. Athos followed suit. They left the tavern together, marching quickly towards the garrison.

MMMM

The first few days of the journey gave them reasonable weather, but they knew that would not last. The first few days of the journey also gave the three men an increasing sense of foreboding. They were following the most direct route to where the training exercise was planned. They were expecting to meet the men on their return journey. Every rise of the road or sweeping bent had them craning their necks ready to see the Musketeers and cadets on their way back, perhaps with questioning looks as to why their Captain had come to meet them. 

They were continually disappointed. 

As they broke camp after the seventh night Porthos was struggling to hide his worry. The Captain was concerned, and now he guessed that concern was necessary. They should have met the men by the sixth night at the latest. Even if something had delayed them a couple of men would have been sent ahead to let the garrison know that all was well. 

Porthos wished he had gone with them. He had wanted to, but Treville had not picked him. Porthos knew the Captain had randomly picked Musketeers to accompany the cadets. Aramis and Marsac often worked together so it made sense for the two of them to be paired up. Aramis was also a field medic so his chances of being sent on a big training exercise were increased. Porthos was relatively new in service with the Musketeers so had probably been overlooked despite the Captain’s reassurances that he was one of the best men he had. And then there was Athos. 

Aramis had told Porthos that they needed someone to stay to keep an eye on their new friend. Athos’ training had been going very well, he was due his commission soon after the men left for their training. Athos probably had not needed anyone to keep an eye on him, but Aramis, selfless Aramis, had insisted that Porthos not try to get a place on the training exercise. Now he wished he had. 

But their new friend who had demons of his own had meant that Porthos had remained. And now Aramis and the other men were very late back from a simple training exercise. The weather was getting worse. The exercise had been timed to hit bad weather deliberately. The cadets needed a taste of the conditions they might face. But they should not have been exposed to it for more than a few days. 

A few flakes of snow drifted down. Porthos watched them increase in number ahead of them. The horses, which had been ridden hard the previous day, had only been pushed into a gentle trot snorted and shook their heads as the snow hit their muzzles and eyes. Porthos pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders. The grasslands around them were already showing a thin blanket of white across them. 

And still, they did not meet the Musketeers coming the other way. 

Porthos glanced across to Treville and Athos. Treville, the concern permanently etched on his face, had not elaborated on why he was worried about his men. He had barely spoken on the journey towards Savoy. Athos looked equally concerned, his brand new pauldron still shone, not yet broken or cracked by use in battle. Athos would have been fine if Porthos had gone with Aramis. 

He wanted someone to blame for something he did not even know had happened. They had no idea what was delaying the Musketeers. And yet Porthos needed someone to blame. Athos was the obvious candidate. If the man's excessive drinking had not led to Aramis insisting Porthos remain he could have been there, could have stopped whatever it was that had befallen the missing men. 

Porthos shook his head. His thoughts were just going around in circles. He could not really blame Athos, Treville probably would not have allowed him to swap with one of the other men without a good reason. And Porthos was hardly going to tell his Captain that he wanted to go on the exercise to be near the man that had, mere hours before, pulled him into the best kiss he had ever had. 

Despite the circumstances, Porthos smiled. He thought about sitting on that low wall by the river, checking that no one was around as he talked to Aramis who was still coming to terms with who he was. Who was gradually accepting that it was alright to be more than friends with a man. When his friend had pulled him closer and kissed him Porthos had been surprised but quickly kissed Aramis back. The kiss had been brief, they were out in the open after all, but it had been one that Porthos would remember for a very long time. He had hoped they could continue later that day, but that was not meant to be. He had been forced to watch the man he hoped would become his lover ride off on a six-week exercise mission. 

And now he was worrying that some harm had come to that man. He was worried about the other Musketeers and cadets. But he was most worried about Aramis. 

MMMM

As the snow flurries became thicker, they knew they were nearing their destination. Neither Musketeer had been to the Savoy area but Treville led them confidently. The mountains seemed to tower over them, pressing them into the valley. Athos liked the open lands and the city; the hills and rocky surroundings were not as welcoming. They seemed to crave disaster. A sense of danger lurked in every shadow caused by the jutting peaks. 

The Captain turned them off the main road towards a thicker wooded area. Athos caught the odd glimpse of flame. He guessed they were approaching the place the Musketeers and cadets had stopped to camp. Their fires still burned. As the tangled woods gave way to a clearing, he could not help a gasp of shock, repeated by both of his travelling companions. 

‘Dear God,’ muttered Treville as he took in the scene in front of him. 

A neat line of tents stood testament to the life that had been in the clearing. The dying flames of the three fires served no purpose. They were not required to provide warmth. The dead men lying scattered around the clearing did not need the heat the orange flames still gave off. The bodies of the Musketeers and cadets were haphazard, but all were lying on their backs with their arms folded across their bodies. A couple had bandages wrapped around wounds, the blood seeping through and into the snow. It was obvious they had been dead for a while; the snow had settled over them enough to leave a fine white blanket. Not enough to obscure them but enough to leave them serene in their deaths. 

Porthos dismounted and walked towards the closed body, his boots causing the powdered snow to crunch as he moved. He crouched by the body and gently wiped the snow from the face.

‘Pierre,’ he said quietly before crossing himself, something Athos rarely saw the man do.

Treville had joined him, moving onto the next man, repeating the actions Porthos had done. 

‘Bernard,’ he said before straightening up.

The two men moved from body to body, naming each man as they came across them. Athos slowly dismounted, scanning the scene, counting the bodies. He counted them twice. 

‘There are two missing,’ he said.

Treville looked across, ‘scout the immediate area,’ he said.

The Captain spoke with a monotonous tone. Other than naming each dead man he had not said a word. Not speculated on what had happened, not issued any other order. Athos nodded and slowly walked to the edge of the clearing pausing when he heard Porthos say the next name.

‘Paul.’

Athos turned back, ‘your roommate at the garrison?’ he asked.

‘For a time,’ replied Porthos, who was still looking at the Musketeer. 

Paul had got his commission shortly after Athos had started as a cadet. 

‘He took rooms in the city with…’ Porthos paused looking at the two bodies lying next to Paul, ‘Clemont and LaPointe.’

The two cadets, not far off their own commissions, both had bloody wounds to their chests.

Porthos stood a silent vigil for a few seconds over his friends. Athos turned away as the Captain continued to walk amongst his fallen men quietly naming each one as he went. 

It could only be described as a massacre. From the state of dress of the men, they had been attacked at night. They would not have been expecting it. Sentries would have been posted, probably the missing men, but they would have easily been overwhelmed by the attackers. Even caught off guard the Musketeers and cadets would have been able to fight back. The scene in the clearing looked very one-sided. There were swords and guns scattered around the bodies, but not enough. The men had been asleep. Some were only in their shirt sleeves; some were missing their boots. They were on a training exercise; they did not need to be ready for a war. 

He walked a few paces into the wooded surroundings and began a circuit. He glanced occasionally towards the clearing watching Treville and Porthos continue their visual check of each man. He wondered how Porthos would react when he found Aramis’ body? Would he be able to hide the feelings he had for the Musketeer? Athos knew he would find it difficult and he was only a good friend of Aramis. Porthos and Aramis had been embarking on something else. 

Athos looked at the ground in front of him, he spotted some blood soaked into the snow and undergrowth. The ground was flattened, a few bent twigs and a piece of torn bloody fabric lay at the edge. Someone had spent some time, probably lying on the flattened undergrowth. The sheltered area had not been covered by snow leaving it easy for Athos to discern two sets of booted footprints. What troubled him was that the sets of prints did not remain together. They separated. One man had walked, with apparent ease away from the site of the skirmish. The other set walked haphazardly back to the clearing, Athos imagined stumbled steps, a tree being used for support as the man walked. The second man was injured. Athos followed the prints expecting to find one of the dead men at the end of them, but he lost the prints in the dusting of snow covering the clearing.

‘Aramis and Marsac are missing,’ said Porthos after looking at the last man for a few seconds. 

‘There are signs that two men stopped in the wooded area back there,’ said Athos, ‘one seems to have walked away whilst the other returned here.’

Treville, who was standing in the middle of the clearing, did not respond. He simply stared ahead, a haunted look in his eyes. Athos wondered what the man was thinking, did he know something that he was not telling them? Was there more to his intuition that something had gone wrong with the exercise?

A twig cracked on the other side of the clearing. The three Musketeers turned quickly, alert for further danger. 

Athos took in the two young boys that were watching them. They were both wearing thick coats against the winter chill. The older boy was standing a little in front of the younger one. Athos guessed they were brothers; they both had the same curled light brown hair and similar features. 

‘Messieurs?’ said the older boy, the trepidation obvious in his voice.

Treville moved his hands away from his gun. None of them had drawn their weapons but all had their hands on either gun or sword.

‘My father sent us to keep an eye out for you. We knew someone would come…’

‘Did you see what happened here?’ asked Porthos his voice outwardly calm. 

Athos knew his friend was anything but calm beneath the surface. He would be worrying about Aramis. 

‘Only after,’ said the boy. ‘We heard the fighting in the night, a few nights ago. We came in the morning. Papa told us to go back to the farm, but we watched from over there.’

The boy pointed at the area of the woods they had emerged from. 

‘The farmhands and Papa checked each body-’

‘Did they lay them out like this?’ asked Treville. 

Both boys shook their heads.

‘We think the mad soldier did that.’

‘The mad soldier?’ repeated Porthos taking a couple of steps forward. 

The boy nodded, ‘when they were looking at the bodies, he ran at them screaming for them to leave. He punched Simon and tried to attack all of them. It took all three of them to stop him.’

‘What happened to him?’ asked Porthos.

‘He’s in the barn,’ said the boy, as if putting a mad soldier into a barn was a normal everyday occurrence. 

‘In the barn?’ said Treville. ‘Why is he in the barn?’

‘He’s mad,’ said the boy. ‘Papa chained him up, said it was for his own good and to stop him hurting anyone else. He said that someone would come and know what to do with him…’

Treville walked forward, ‘well we’re here now. Can you take us to him?’

The boys nodded and turned away, picking their way through the woods away from the clearing. The Musketeers followed in silence. They did not know which of the missing men was in the barn. They did not know what state he was in. Porthos prayed it was Aramis. He prayed his friend was alright, perhaps just confused by an injury.

As they walked the younger boy turned back and spoke.

‘He won’t like you. Only Mama and Elise have been able to help him. He sat quietly whilst they cleaned the cut to his head. But when Papa goes near the barn he screams and shouts. Papa has to watch when Mama goes in, but out of sight. Papa said he would shoot the mad soldier if he attacked Mama. But he doesn’t.’

Porthos glanced at Athos, who looked back. The worry reflected on both their faces. 

MMMM

Porthos wished the two boys would walk faster, but they were small and could not. After what felt like an eternity the farm cottage and a couple of barns came into view. The doors for one of the barns were firmly closed. 

A strong looking man looked up from sharpening some tools. He was sitting on a rough bench seat outside the cottage. 

‘I knew you would come, that many men were going to be missed,’ said the man with a sad smile. 

‘I understand you have one of my men?’ said Treville his eyes on the closed barn.

‘He’s been injured, head wound, it’s left him confused. I am sure he is not as violent normally,’ said the farmer. ‘My farmhand has been left with an impressive bruise.’

Porthos walked towards the barn, he steadied his breathing, it had to by Aramis. He was not sure what he would do if he opened the door and found Marsac in the barn. He wanted to know where his other friend was, but he really wanted to find Aramis waiting in the barn. Even if he was injured and confused. 

‘Careful, monsieur,’ said the farmer from behind.

Porthos waved the man off, he was not scared of his friend. He reached the door and slipped the wooden bar out of the holders leaning the bar against the wall by the door. He pulled the doors open enough for the light to fall into the barn. 

The soldier was sat huddled on the other side of the barn, a chain hooked around his waist trailing to a sturdy metal ring set into the stone wall that made up one side of the barn. Porthos took a step into the barn. The man looked up.

It was Aramis. 

Porthos sighed with relief. 

His friend was not wearing his doublet, a blanket was draped around his shoulders. Porthos guessed the farmer's wife had given it to him. A fresh bandaged was around his head, a few specks of dried blood covered his collar. He looked, understandably, tired. 

Aramis looked at him for a few seconds, he took a while to focus on him. He pulled the blanket that was around his shoulders closer and struggled to his feet. Porthos took another couple of steps forward. Aramis did the same, his steps shaky. As he reached Porthos the chain went taut causing him to stumble. Porthos grabbed him, holding him upright, pulling him close at the same time. Aramis clung onto him, burying his face in Porthos’ shoulder, he seemed to melt in his arms, going limp. Porthos guided Aramis to his knees and kept a firm hold of him. 

‘He...he left me,’ Aramis stuttered.

Porthos heard the farmer speak quietly from behind him.

‘He’s been saying that a lot. He’s never said who left him...another survivor?’

Marsac. 

It was the only name that came to Porthos’ mind. Marsac was the only man who was unaccounted for. Had he been taken by whoever attacked the Musketeers? But Aramis had been saying that Marsac had left. Left of his own free will? Porthos could not work out what might have happened, he quickly decided it did not matter at that instant. Getting Aramis out of the barn was what he really wanted to do. 

‘I had to do it for you,’ said Aramis as he pushed himself away from Porthos as little. ‘They would have hurt you...I didn’t want to do it...you know that don’t you?’

Porthos looked at his friend for a few seconds before he realised what Aramis was talking about. He was chained up, restrained in a barn. He was confusing what was happening with what had happened when they had been briefly captured by the Spanish. The interior of the barn was similar. Unwittingly the farmer had only added to Aramis’ confusion. The restraints may have been for the injured man’s own good, but they had caused Aramis to suffer flashbacks. Porthos realised there was a danger his friend could say something that would compromise him. 

‘He’s been going on about that as well,’ said the farmer. ‘My wife said she thought he might have been attacked or something...we can’t make it out…’

‘A previous mission,’ said Athos. ‘I believe there are some similarities. The head injury.’

‘It’s left him confused,’ agreed the farmer. ‘I’ll get the key to the lock on the chain.’

Porthos was aware of the farmer walking off. 

Aramis was still clinging to him. He was shaking. Porthos pulled him closer, at that moment he did not care if the move looked indecent. His friend needed the contact.

'I changed the bandage this morning,' a female voice said.

Porthos glanced over his shoulder a woman, of a similar age to the farmer, was standing at the doorway. She pushed a few stray hairs behind her ear.

'He just sat there and let me work,' she continued. 'He keeps saying he's been left by someone. We don't know who. And then he's been speaking about...' she paused for a moment thinking, 'Porthos. He says he had to do something, and he wants Porthos to understand.'

The woman paused looking at Aramis sadly.

'I hope now that you are here, he gets better.'

Treville nodded, 'thank you for looking after him,' he said.

Porthos felt Aramis push away from him a little, he looked at the woman.

'I knew they would come,' he said, his words strong for a few moments, 'I knew he wouldn't abandon me.'

The woman smiled, 'you must be Porthos.'

Porthos nodded.

'Look after him,' said the woman, 'he's been through a lot. He watched all those men die.’

Porthos returned his attention to Aramis who was staring into the distance. Porthos undid his cloak and twisted around to pull it off his shoulders. Aramis reached up to stop him.

‘You’ll get cold' he said.

Porthos gently pushed Aramis' hands back down. He wrapped the cloak around his friends trembling shoulders.

‘He walked away.’

Porthos glanced at Athos and Treville. Athos stepped forward, crouching by them both.

‘We are not going to leave you Aramis. Let us look after you.’

Aramis looked at him for a few seconds, his eyes darted about before focusing on him. He nodded. The farmer returned with the key to the chain. Aramis visibly tensed up as the man approached. Porthos could feel his friend’s fingers digging into his arm. The farmer stopped a few yards away. He turned to Treville, handing him the key.

‘He's obviously at ease with you,' he said. 'If you need to stop the night you are welcome to use the barn. But please keep him under control.’

The former spoke with sincerity, Porthos know the man had already done more than most people would have done for an injured stranger.

‘Thank you monsieur' said Treville.

The farmer and his wife retreated Treville gave the key to Athos.

'I'll go back to the camp and bring the horses. Stay with him.’

The Captain walked off, pausing to talk to the farmer

Athos used the key to undo the chain before Porthos unwound it from Aramis' waist. The chain had not been tight, but Aramis would have been aware of it. Porthos could well imagine his friend, in his confused state, remembering what had happened during their capture by the Spaniards.

'There were too many of them,' said Aramis, who seemed more lucid. ‘They came at night. Most of us were in our tents. They must have taken out the sentries silently. There was no warning. We weren't ready. We weren't expecting it.’

He stared off into the distance. Porthos wished he would keep his friend in a firm embrace, but it would have been wrong in front of Athos and Treville. Athos seemed to sense Porthos' quandary.

'I will deal with the Captain if Aramis says anything inappropriate,' he said.

Porthos nodded his thanks.

'Why did he leave me?' asked Aramis, who looked unfocused again. ‘He dealt with my injury... then he walked away.'

Porthos wondered if Aramis was remembering the events clearly. He found it hard to believe that Marsac would have just left the Musketeers. Left his best friend when he was injured. There had to be more to it.

‘We’ll work it out,’ said Porthos, unsure what else to say. ‘Are you injured, other than your head?’

Aramis looked at him blankly for a few seconds before shaking his head.

‘I tried to grab one of them from behind to stop them from attacking Paul. I’d taken my weapons off. I had nothing on me to defend myself. I'd had a brief sword fight with the man I think was their leader… I'm sure I injured him, but I ended up with no weapons. They were all heavily armed. The man I grabbed, big brute. He swung around, pushed me away, I fell awkwardly. I think I hit a tree root or something. The next thing I knew I was away from the fighting. Marsac was wrapping a bandage around my head…’

He looked off into the distance again for a few seconds. 

‘Then he walked away…’

Aramis looked back at Porthos.

‘Did he go because of what I did? He wouldn’t understand. He would say it would be better to have been killed than to submit to them…’

Porthos glanced at Athos. He was glad his friend knew about their capture by the Spaniards. The thought of having to explain what Aramis was talking about in his confusion was not pleasant. 

‘By the time I could stand up again it was all over. They weren’t all dead… I did what I could, but they were too badly injured…’

Porthos was beginning to understand why his friend was so traumatised. He was one of only two survivors. He had dealt with the bodies, whilst injured and unable to work out why his friend had seemingly abandoned him. 

‘You’re not going, are you?’

‘No, Aramis, we’re not going. And when we do go, you’ll be coming with us.’

Aramis nodded before going back to staring into the distance, a haunted look in his eyes. Porthos had seen his friend distracted by events before, but it was obvious what had happened was affecting him far worse than anything else had done. His friend had seen the aftermath of vicious battles, but perhaps the one-sided nature, and his injury, were making the event worse. It did not help that most of those killed were cadets, young men who had yet to taste the excitement and horrors of a real battle. 

‘Porthos,’ said Treville quietly from behind him.

Porthos looked around, he had not noticed the Captain return. Their horses were tied to a fence across the yard. Treville indicated that he wanted to talk to him in private. Athos gestured that he would stay with Aramis. 

‘Don’t go,’ said Aramis, an almost childlike tone to his voice, as Porthos stood up.

‘I’m just going over there,’ reassured Porthos. ‘I won’t go out of sight.’

Aramis nodded, watching him carefully. Porthos walked with the Captain several yards away.

‘I want you to be honest with me,’ said Treville quietly, his tone fatherly. 

Porthos nodded slowly.

‘Something happened on your last mission with him didn’t it? The one where you were caught by the Spanish.’

Porthos tried not to react, he knew he had failed. 

‘I need to know what happened, you don’t have to go into too much detail, I think I can guess. But it will help me to help him if I know.’

Porthos nodded, ‘when Marsac was taken for interrogation, the men that were watching us… they took an interest in Aramis…’

‘Was he assaulted… sexually?’

Porthos nodded. Treville sighed with irritation.

‘There is always a risk,’ he said. ‘It happens. I hate to say it, it is not unusual. Did they give him a choice? If he didn’t do as they wanted, you and Marsac would have been hurt?’

Porthos nodded again.

‘That explains why he’s so keen that you understand why he did it. I take it Marsac doesn’t know what happened? Is that why Aramis is confusing that mission with what’s happened here?’

‘Probably,’ said Porthos. ‘Marsac is quite narrow-minded-’

Treville nodded, ‘I’ve often wondered why they are friends, considering Aramis’ own inclinations.’

Porthos stared at the Captain who smiled.

‘I am intuitive, Porthos. And I’m not blind. I couldn’t care less what you all get up to. Provided it does not affect your soldiering you can do what you want in your off-duty hours. Porthos, from what I understand, it was encouraged in some armies in ancient times. All I would ask is that you are careful and discreet, it is, after all, currently illegal.’

Porthos took a moment to absorb what his Captain had just said before nodding slowly.

‘Now go back to him. He needs to know he has not been abandoned by all his friends. We can only hope he is back to his usual self once he has slept. I suspect that now he has people he knows with him he will be able to relax.’

MMMM 

The farmer found a brazier for them to set a fire overnight near the doorway of the barn. Athos and the Captain returned to the site of the massacre to prepare the bodies to be transported back to Paris. The farmer agreed to arrange for carts to take the deceased over the following days. Treville paid him handsomely for his help, asking for some of the money to go to the farmhands that Aramis had attacked by way of compensation. 

Athos had carefully gone through each man’s belongings collecting anything of value so that it could be either given to their family or closest friends. Although in several cases Athos knew that the closest friends of some of the men were lying dead beside them. He was not a religious man, but he sent up a few quiet prayers. Most of the cadets were younger than him, their expression in death not serene now that the snow had been dusted off them but showing fear. They were soldiers, being killed in active service was almost inevitable, but to be killed on a training exercise was not. 

The following morning saw Aramis more focused than the day before. He had slept next to Porthos who had laid one hand over Aramis’ wrist, the contact seemed to help their friend relax. He had slept soundly; Athos had not been surprised. Aramis had probably not slept properly for several days, particularly as he was having conflicted confused thoughts about where he was. 

Athos had distracted the farmer and his farmhands a couple of times when Aramis had started to get worked up again. The Musketeer kept saying things that were almost compromising but not quite. The farmer, his pockets filled with Treville’s money, left the injured Musketeer alone. None of the family went near him.

Porthos helped Aramis back to the Musketeer camp. He had asked to see the bodies before he set out for Paris. The Captain reluctantly humoured his injured man. They stood silently as Aramis went from man to man, saying a prayer over each one. Athos wondered if the act was cathartic to Aramis. He could not imagine how his friend felt being the only survivor. They were not sure what had happened to Marsac. The Captain had searched the area and questioned the people in the nearest village, but no one had seen him. Athos could tell the Captain was reluctant to declare Marsac a deserter, but everything pointed to that being the case. Aramis had said his friend was not injured, he had not been taken by the enemy soldiers, he had simply walked away after throwing down his pauldron. 

As Aramis continued his slow, silent vigil over the bodies Porthos quietly walked up to Athos. 

‘I wanted to apologise,’ he said.

‘For what?’ asked Athos.

‘I blamed you… for this,’ Porthos replied. ‘I thought that if I had been here, I could have stopped it. The only reason I didn’t try to join them was that he asked me to stay and keep an eye on you.’

Porthos gestured towards Aramis.

‘You would most likely have been among the dead,’ said Athos sadly. ‘And I think we can both agree that would have been worse for him.’

Porthos nodded.

‘When you get back to Paris,’ continued Athos, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a key, ‘take him to my rooms. He does not need to be the centre of attention at the garrison. Some of the other men might get overly curious. I think what he needs is a little time to settle himself mentally. It is not a sign of weakness.’

Treville had been listening to the two Musketeers. He moved closer and nodded.

‘I agree with Athos,’ he said. ‘We will be a couple of days behind you. I don’t want you two having to explain what has happened. The men may not intend to cause Aramis harm, but he needs a bit of time to recover. It’s possible the journey back will give him that time, but I would rather be the one to break the news to the men.’

Porthos took the key Athos was holding out to him.

MMMM 

Porthos glanced at his friend. Aramis was not badly injured physically other than the blow to the head. He had ridden on his own since they left Savoy, he had done what was needed each night to set up their camp. He had even gone off and caught them rabbits on a few occasions.

But Aramis was quiet. 

Porthos had no problem with few moments of quiet, but when they stretched to several hours at a time it became trying. He had tried to start conversations, but Aramis had not engaged. They had barely spoken since they left. Whilst it pleased Porthos that his friend was at least focused, what worried him was the melancholy. He was not expecting Aramis to continue as if nothing had happened, it would have been wrong if he had. But the total lack of conversation meant Porthos did not know how to help Aramis. 

He decided to take a different approach. They had been sleeping with their bedrolls lying close to each other, a respectful few inches between them. Porthos moved his bedroll so that it was touching Aramis’. Aramis was already stretched out on his, two cloaks and a blanket wrapped around him. Porthos did not think his friend had been without his doublet and cloak since they left Savoy. Despite the slightly warmer nights, Aramis seemed to be as cold as when they found him. 

Porthos lay behind Aramis, throwing his own cloak over both of them. Aramis did not try to stop him, did not move away or say anything as Porthos moulded himself to Aramis’ body, snaking his arm around him. Aramis was shivering, Porthos sighed inwardly. His friend was bottling up the torment he felt. The guilt he had as the survivor. 

What Porthos did not want to happen was for Aramis to simply build another layer to his facade. Not only would Aramis hide his abusive past, but he would also hide the horror of the massacre of Savoy. 

Porthos was determined he would not let that happen. 

He thought about the day Aramis had left on the exercise, the kiss they had shared, the possibility of more to come. He wondered if that was not something that they would be able to continue. Had Aramis been affected too much by what had happened? Porthos hoped not, but he would be careful around his friend.

The fact that Aramis had not shied away from him as they lay together gave him hope. 

And hope was a good thing.

**Author's Note:**

> ...to be continued...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. I will take a little break from this (I've got a gen story I'd like to finish for FFN), but I will be back with a follow up, I wouldn't leave Aramis and Porthos like that!


End file.
